A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret suffering, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music.
(Soren Kierkegaard)

Friday, July 14, 2006

How Long?

I am alarmed at the speedwith which you breachmy barrierswith practiced ease you topple anycarefully constructed resolvethat I attempt to erectYetI am the enemyat the gatesgleefully ignorantlyhanding over the keysto my own defeatmy penned words are traitors to my causerevealing the long concealed tunnel to my coreI fear the version of meyou masterfully unveilsweeping away all my reservewho is this woman?who fearlessly graspsthe very thing she desiresholding it to herselffor as long as she maybut still she askshow long will it last?